The Black Book
by Angie-Lily
Summary: Alone in a black room without any exit. The only furniture in the room; a bed. Only thing in this world; a Black Book, with white pages.


Darkness surrounds me. My warm breath combines with it in the silence, but the air I breathe is cold. My body is numbed, like after a very long sleep. I get to move my fingers, and I feel them slip on a soft and thin stuff.

I am alone, all curled up. I don't remember how I got here, and if I had a name, I forgot it. I feel like I have always lived in this darkness, unfazed, my eyes closed. But this time, something in the air is different. I can't exactly tell what changed, but I know it is the moment.

 _Wake up_ , says a voice in my head. _Open your eyes._

Taking a last deep breath, I stretch my neck a little, ans open my eyes. There is a very dim light out here, but I can barely see. I slowly sit up straight, leaning on my elbow. I am lying down on the only furniture of the room, a simple bed, covered by a white sheet brushing against the ground. In the room, everything –apart the bed- is black; the floor, the walls, even the roof. Another strange thing; it seems like the light comes from the floor, as if a projector was hidden underneath the bed. This light is so dim I would be in the dark if I took only a few steps.

I run a hand across my hair, dark straws long enough to reach my waist. One after the other, I get both my legs out of the bed and my feet touch the ground. Like the air surrounding me, it is cold. However, I stay like this a few seconds, sitting on the bed, letting the freshness of the floor cool me down.

I gradually stand up, not making any sound. I don't feel anything, as if silence and darkness sufficed me. I let my gaze strut all over the place, and then I stare at my feet. My legs are nude; the short white dress I am wearing stops just over my knee. I have very thin fingers; so long they seem to have no end compared to my tiny hands. I still have some childish curves, but accorded to my size I can tell I'm not so young.

. . . . .

The room is very small. In a few steps I've seen everything that there's to see, my hands running around the wall. There's no window, not even a hollow. And most of all, there is no door. There's just me, trapped in a room where the time seems to have stopped.

Alone in the middle of the chamber, I stare at the roof, and then I stare at the bed. After a few seconds, I realize that there is something on the bed; something I hadn't noticed before. Step by step, I get closer to the bed, and I sit on the edge. I look at the mysterious object closer. It is a book. It is _the_ Book, the only one in here, the only one in my world.

The Book hasn't got anything in particular. I take it in my hand. It's not very tall, only six or seven inches, but it is quite thick. It's very flexible, even its cover. I could easily roll it up. Speaking of its cover, it is very basic. Too basic, maybe, because it's all black. There is nothing written on it, not even the Book's title.

Paying very attention to what I do, I open the Book carefully, but the first page is totally blank. I start to turn the other pages, one by one, than I go faster. Every single page of the Book is blank, and smells like old paper.

I close the Book, and I run my hand across its cover. It's soft and fresh, and it looks like it is breathing with me. That's not all; I feel much ore from, as if life was trapped in it, like a heartbeat.

"So it's just you and me?"

My voice resonates in the silence, for the first time. It repeats over and over, like a weak echo, and then fades.

The Book shivers slightly, and then regains its original immobility. I try to pass my fingers between two pages, but the Book refuses to open. After a few tries, I put it down on the bed with a little sigh.

"What are you hiding me?"

This time, the Book doesn't shiver. It's agitated by a strong spasm, and falls on the bed. When I lean forward to see it, I notice that it's open.

I pick it up, letting it open at the same page. This page, like the others, is blank. But not totally, this time; at the bottom of the page, a word is printed. It was like every word in the Book has been cancelled, all but this one.

 _ **LOTS**_

I run my fingers across the page, frowning. This word wasn't here before, I know it. As if the Book finally decided to answer me.

" _Lots_?" I ask. "What so you mean by _Lots_?"

The Book remains silent, but the page's corner shivers. I turn the page, than I turn the next one. Another word appeared, at the top, on the left.

 _ **OF**_

The third word is about ten pages farther. It is barely visible, like someone tried to erase it by rubbing the page.

 _ **THINGS**_

I resume turning the pages, but no other words appear. So I look at the previous words, one by one, reading the Book's answer.

 ** _LOTS OF THINGS_**

 _. . . . ._

 ** _Here is the first chapter of The Black Book, hope you enjoyed. I really am sorry if you don't understand sometimes, and that my English isn't so bad. I am French, and the Black Book is a translation of my fiction Le Livre Noir, which I posted a few days ago._**

 ** _I know all this is a little weird, so I you have any questions just Review and I will answer you with great pleasure ^^ If you also have ideas of what could happen next, I will be very happy to include some of your ideas in the story !_**

 ** _Hope you enjoyed, see ya soon !_**


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